


In the Spirit of Wrapping Presents

by SomeoneAsGoodAsYou (the_wanlorn)



Series: An Advent-ure in Christmas Spirit [10]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Angst, F/M, Lucifer being a big dumb baby, Wrapping Presents, and getting in his own way as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wanlorn/pseuds/SomeoneAsGoodAsYou
Summary: Lucifer ruins everything like the ruiner he is. Also: presents are wrapped.ETA:If anyone of you nonnies wants an AO3 invite, lmk, I have five of them.





	In the Spirit of Wrapping Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas Eve to everyone who celebrates! This is the gift from me you get to open before bed. The rest shall come tomorrow.
> 
> Happy Monday to everyone who doesn't celebrate! Hopefully this will make up a little for how the work week has started again and everything is terrible in the world and such.

Lucifer lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He should get up and go to the precinct; the Detective was sure to be wondering where he was. But after yesterday, he couldn't...

One would think that being kissed by the love of one's life would be a cause for celebration. In Lucifer, it brought only dread. Every time they had tried this, every time she had graced him with a kiss, something awful happened. A part of him — a depressingly large part — was wondering if he just didn't get up, would that prevent disaster from striking? He knew that it was only a matter of time before it did. He was the Devil. He didn't get happy endings.

His phone rang for a fourth time that morning, and he sent it to voicemail without looking at the screen. It was the Detective; he didn't have to look to know that. She was likely worried about him, but she shouldn't be. She shouldn't feel anything for him. He was-

The elevator door opened. He thought he had locked it. Only one person had a key and was still around and-

"Oh thank God," the Detective breathed, her footsteps loud in the silence.

"I doubt my father has anything to do with whatever you're so thankful for, Detective," he called as he hurried to get up and shrug into a robe, feeling oddly naked for perhaps the first time in his long existence.

When he turned, robe on but untied, cheeky grin pasted on his face, the Detective was leaning against the entryway to his bedroom, her arms crossed over her chest. She was holding herself as stiff as his smile, and he felt it falter a little before he could control his expression. She didn't look happy, and he wanted to go to her, to fall to his knees before her and beg her forgiveness, to apologize for all the wrongs he had done to her.

But he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her.

"We're not doing this," the Detective said, her voice flat, her fingers pressing into her arm so hard the tips were white.

He forced his smile wider as his stomach plummeted and said, "At least let me proposition you first before turning me down, Detective."

She scowled — not the reaction he was going for at all — and his smile shrank into nothing, leaving him grim-faced and tired. He wasn't sure which would be worse: to have her tell him that kissing him again had been a mistake, or for him to tell him that it hadn't been but he wasn't worth it. Both things were true, but he didn't need to hear them come from her lips.

"We're not going to do the thing where I kiss you, you kiss back, and then you avoid me for weeks afterward. I'm sorry that I pushed. Believe me, it won't happen again."

Ah, so it was option two. "Of course."

She nodded once, sharply. "Good. Are you coming to work or what?"

Her fingers were still digging marks into her arms, and she was still holding herself tightly. He had thought agreeing that they weren't going to- weren't- He had thought it would make things better, but she didn't look better. If anything, she looked worse, her lips were thin and pressed together, and her eyes — the same ones that were usually so expressive — were empty. He didn't know what to do.

"Ah, yes, just let me..." he said, turning to go shower dropping his robe as he did. Perhaps it was unfair of him, a bit juvenile, but he wanted to provoke a reaction from her, even if it was just her usual exasperation at his antics. He stretched, knowing the flex of the muscles in his back usually drew her attention. But this time, he didn't feel her eyes on him, and when he glanced back, she had already turned away from him and was making her way to the elevator.

"I'll see you at the precinct," she threw back without looking at him. Then she was gone.

The precinct was... awkward to say the least. Enough so that others noticed, and he received more than one comment about being in the doghouse. And, well, it was true. He had fallen from the Detective's good graces and he wasn't sure how to claw his way back up to them. If only things were as simple as they had been two days ago. Back when he knew he loved her and that she had no interest in him that way. Back when he wasn't as worried about everything turning to ash.

It seemed that everything had turned to ash anyway. He'd never experienced this... this amount of coldness from the Detective before. At least not since, well. Not since the last massive cock-up he made after sharing a kiss with her. Even then, her anger had been more tinged with hurt than whatever this was. This was like she had given up on him.

The very thought chilled him to his core.

At the end of the day, as he was about to take his leave, the Detective stopped him with a hand on his arm. Before he could even look down at it, before he could begin to enjoy its warmth, she jerked away and took a step back.

"Are you still coming over to help Trixie wrap some presents?"

Right. The little urchin had requested his presence, and he supposed it did fall under being shown the true meaning of Christmas and all that. He just hadn't thought...

"I hadn't thought I'd be welcome," he said before he could decide it was a bad idea to say anything.

Chloe sighed and reached out to him, but paused and withdrew before she could make contact. He never realized how often she touched him before, and now every time she drew back was like a tiny stab to his heart. "You're always welcome."

"Ah," was all he could come up with as he studied her and tried to find his balance in the conversation. She raised her eyebrows at him and he realized she was still waiting for an answer. He tried a small smile and said, "Of course I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."

The breath the Detective exhaled was almost a sigh of relief.

"Okay," she said. He itched to touch her cheek, to make sure this wasn't some sort of dream he was having where he hadn't messed things up this morning.

He followed her home, arriving only moments after her, slipping by the babysitter as she left. The Detective was giving him a strange, sort of confused look as Beatrice wrapped herself around his torso, before glancing back to the door. He patted Beatrice absently on the head while sending a questioning look the Detective's way. She just shook her head.

"Okay guys, ready to wrap some presents?"

The table was cleared off of everything but a roll of wrapping paper and three sets of scissors. The pile of presents stacked on a chair was quite large — how many people could a child that small possibly have to give presents to? — and there was one already-wrapped present that he made a bee-line for as soon as he extricated himself from Beatrice's clutches.

"No peeking!" Beatrice was suddenly right in front of him, blocking the present from view. Whatever was she- "That's for you, so no peeking. You're not allowed to shake it either."

"No present shaking in this house," the Detective said from where she was already cutting up wrapping paper, immediately distracting him from how Beatrice got _him_ a present. "Not after the Tinsel Incident of 2014."

"Now that sounds like a story," he murmured as Beatrice went to kneel on a chair and picked up a pair of blunt-ended scissors.

The Detective laughed a little. "I'll tell you some other time," she said, nodding her head toward Beatrice. Ah, not for young ears then. His face must have given away what he was considering, because she added, "And it's not what you're thinking."

His face fell, and she laughed again, then motioned him over to the table and handed him a small stack of stickers with names on them, and an equal number of... "Hot Wheels" cars?

"Trixie's class this year has a rule that if you bring a present for one person to their holiday party, you have to bring a present for everyone," Chloe said, answering his unasked question.

"Well that's preposterous," he said. "I can't imagine everyone likes each other enough for a gift. Why not a secret santa?"

"Last year Tommy gave Sally a dead frog 'cause he was mad he didn't get Liz for secret santa." Beatrice barely looked up from the present she was trying to wrap, her tongue stuck out in concentration. It was, he unwillingly admitted, a bit adorable.

"A dead frog, hm?" He pulled a piece of wrapping paper over and started to fold it around the toy car. "Well I hope he got something equally as nasty."

"He had to give his present to Sally so he didn't get anything." She shook her hand, trying to get tape off her finger while she still held the wrapping paper closed. He was saved from having to intervene by the Detective leaning across the table and rescuing the piece of tape and the present.

"And that's why there are no more secret santas." The Detective put a bigger box in front of Beatrice, along with a large piece of wrapping paper. Her wrapping job was just as bad this time, and it wasn't even a hard shape to wrap.

At some point, the Detective ordered pizza for them, and he managed to get to the door ahead of her so he could pay. It was only fair. By the time they finished it, Beatrice had wandered off to go play a game on the iPad and it was just him and the Detective. The silence was... uncomfortable, and for once, he wasn't sure how to break it.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" he finally asked, tentative and waiting to see if he was only here because Beatrice wanted him here.

The corner of the Detective's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "There isn't one. We're probably going to eat dinner and watch a Christmas movie, and that's it."

"Ah," he said, shoulders tensing while he waited for the final blow. "Well if that's all then I suppose I'm not needed?"

She shook her head and turned away, her face closed off from him. "You were never needed, Lucifer." He couldn't contain the flinch or ignore the cold sweat that overtook him. She turned back to him, a sad smile on her face. "And you're not here because of a silly deal I made with you. We- _I_ invited you because I wanted to."

"Oh." He sat back in the chair, a warm feeling filling his chest. "Oh," he said again as she smiled at him. He wasn't sure... He hadn't really thought any of that applied now that she knew he was the Devil. But if it still did, if she still kept him around because she wanted to and not because she needed his supernatural abilities...

"Well I'd love-" he grimaced inwardly at his over-eagerness "-to come, if that's alright."

"Of course it is." This was one of those moments where she would reach out and cup his cheek, he could tell. He treasured those moments, and never knew what was going to spark one of them until he did. Her hand twitched, as if she was about to, but then she just nodded and picked up the scissors to cut out more paper.

He wasn't really prepared for how much that hurt. It almost took his breath away. What had he done, by not showing up this morning in favor of wallowing in bed? What had he done and how could he take it back?

He didn't know.

THE END


End file.
